


Corruption

by anotherFMAfan



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherFMAfan/pseuds/anotherFMAfan
Summary: "Mustang heard Fullmetal's voice, crying out in pain." 2003 anime AU. Originally written and posted August 2008.Warnings: I wrote this as platonic (Roy+Ed), but may not read that way to everyone. HEAVY ANGST, VIOLENCE, GORE, SEVERE WOUNDS and TRIGGER WARNINGS. M rating is for violence/gore.





	Corruption

**Author's Note:**

> This was also an experiment in style written in my first year of posting fic.

Mustang heard Fullmetal’s voice, crying out in pain. With a last snap of his fingers he whirled toward the source to find him still fighting, limbs flashing, but he had heard the sound all-too-well, and scanned his body for any sign of-

His right side, just under his ribs, red with blood. Without even thinking, all except the men closest to Fullmetal were engulfed in flame, and Mustang ran toward him as he defeated his last enemy- and collapsed to the ground, clutching his waist. With a pang of panic Roy shouted his name, skidding to a halt beside him and turning him over perhaps a bit too roughly.

“Fuck,” Edward groaned, face contorted in pain, and Roy couldn’t swallow in his dry throat, because that gash could be- that was bad, he knew after all this time, a wound like that could so easily be-

“Move your hands, Fullmetal,” he commanded sternly, voice rough with fear, and pulled Ed’s wrists back to look at it, try to find out if—

A volley of shot exploded around them, and Mustang spun on the spot, searching—god, how was he supposed to fight if he couldn’t see them?—scanning for the slightest—and there, aim and snap, angry orange flame and the accompanying screams.

He looked back to the man on the ground before him, and knew they didn’t have time, didn’t have time for this, the next wave could be there in seconds, but he couldn’t possibly _leave_ him there--

With shaking hands he pulled the fabric of Edward’s shirt up, and saw that it was a stab wound, not a gunshot, and bigger than he’d feared. He jerked the brown belt open and the button and zipper after, pulled on the leather, following the cut down between the boy’s hip and groin until finally the flesh was no longer ragged. Edward was moaning through his clenched teeth, and Roy’s stomach felt sick because god, it was huge and they were so far from help, the chances were so—

“Do it!” barked Fullmetal, making Roy jump. “Do it, bastard, hurry up, it hurts—!” The sentence had changed abruptly midway from command to plea, and Roy scrabbled to move the flammable shirt far enough up, out of the way, and he thought he might throw up from fear, he had never done something like this, something where so much precision was needed, not when the stakes were so high, and the skin of Edward’s stomach was so smooth and looked so vulnerable--

“Fullmetal, I might- I can’t—”

“Do it! There’s no choice and _we don’t have time for this_ , moron—”

“I could _kill_ you—!”

“I’M DYING ANYWAY!” He shouted, and sucked in a pained breath and oh god blood sloshed out of the hole—

“Do it, do it, do it _now_ they’re _coming_ —”

Mustang pulled the glove off of his left hand and pulled the edges of Fullmetal’s flesh together where it had pulled away, bright red blood seeping between his fingertips as grunts of pain rumbled up from beneath his touch, then let go and god he _hoped_ ….

Roy raised his hand, pressed his fingers together so hard he thought they would break, concentrating, focusing so hard because this was his one and only chance, this was the boy’s _life_ —

Snap.

Edward’s back arched violently and he screamed in agony, but the sound cut short as he passed out, eyes rolling up into his head and going limp-- but Mustang finished the job, breathing in the terrible stink of burnt flesh, Edward’s flesh. Done, it was done, and Edward wasn’t dead - yet- and it looked horribly gruesome but he had seen much worse, inflicted much, much worse, the only difference being that this time it was someone he knew and loved—

He heard voices shouting from beyond the copse of trees behind him, and suddenly Edward’s wound was of no consequence, he couldn’t even begin to think of that while they might be killed here and now….

Mustang leaned over Fullmetal’s body, kneeling between Edward’s spread legs—but wait, he had to cover the wound—

He scooped up some snow in his bloody left hand and used it to wet Edward’s shirt before pulling it back down over the ruined skin, gently but quickly pulled up the black leather pants before leaning back down and gathering him up into his arms, grunting with effort as he straightened and pushed Edward’s head over his shoulder, supporting his butt with his left arm the way he might a child. He struggled to his feet, right arm resting across Fullmetal’s back for the moment but carefully not letting his right glove touch the wet fabric—

More voices, louder- closer- and the sound of soldiers’ footsteps— go, _go_ , he had tarried too long, staggering steps away from the sound and through the silent trees. Feeling Edward breathing, chest to chest they breathed, Roy roughly from exertion, carrying two-- the Automail, he’s so heavy for someone so small—Edward’s breathing shallow and worrisome but _he was still breathing_ \--

Keep walking, keep going, don’t slow down, you can’t slow down, they could be following- it would be so easy, far too easy to track them, Roy’s long trail of footprints in the snow—he glanced back, again, again, one last time, as he took step after unending step, legs and arms shaking and chest burning. How long had he been walking? It seemed hours, forever, and yet they could still be behind—right behind—

He was afraid, his body buzzed with it, itched his eyes as they darted about seeking danger, sharpened his ears as they picked up all the terrible racket he was making in his exhaustion and haste.

Go, keep going, you cannot stop--

Mustang sobbed out a breath and shifted his grip on Edward, his straining, shaking arms nearly dropping him as he staggered forward unevenly, desperately—he couldn’t fall, he couldn’t let his arms slip, he had to keep going, he had to, he had to….

Darkness threatened at the edge of his vision and he blinked his eyes furiously and whipped his head around to look behind him, almost losing his balance completely as he wavered on two legs that he could no longer feel. There, they were there-- if they had followed them, he had to protect Edward, he couldn’t stop, face forward again—

 _You’ve got strong legs, bastard, you’re just too lazy to use them_.

Oh why wasn’t Edward awake yet? He couldn’t feel him breathing anymore, he couldn’t feel anything except that horrid hot buzz of muscles pushed beyond their limit, and god don’t let him be dead, I will do anything, I will walk another ten miles, I’ll never call him short again, please Edward, I promise, don’t be dead—

Keep going, don’t stop, another step, another, another, you can’t stop- Edward- following- _can’t stop_ \--

Roy fell to his knees.

Pain shot through his legs, and the sharp bite of it helped, helped him think, realize where he was and he could not walk anymore, he couldn’t stand. Licking his dry lips, he snapped, drying the base of the tree he was kneeling beside, and had to concentrate for a moment, to realize where his unfeeling limbs were and how to make them move again—

Mustang bent at the waist, supporting himself tremblingly on one hand as he set Edward gently to the ground, then his arm folded- fell over him, gasping and coughing in the dry dirt, nearly passing out immediately—he could feel the darkness--

He pushed himself off of him—body exhausted, no strength, pain—Roy sobbed again and made it to his side, forcing his eyes open to study Edward’s too-pale face, his lips, down to watch his chest, but his vision was swirling too much, he couldn’t tell- was he breathing?

Mustang struggled out of the sleeves of his coat and dragged himself the inches between them, pulling Edward- so small, he’s so small and cold-- no, not dead, don’t be dead—in to his body, tucking his golden head to his chest.

He pulled the coat over their heads, as though that and his own body could protect the boy from death, and was at last pulled down by the darkness of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence  
> The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
> 
> \--King John, William Shakespeare.


End file.
